


finding you at christmas

by dinnfameron



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Christmas, David Rose is a Nice Person, Lumberjack Patrick, M/M, Meet-Cute, POV Patrick Brewer, Patrick Brewer is a Button, hallmark movie vibes, more or less
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:21:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27811423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinnfameron/pseuds/dinnfameron
Summary: Patrick helps out at his parents' Christmas tree lot in the city every year. One night, a lost kid and a handsome stranger come along needing his help.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 58
Kudos: 211





	finding you at christmas

**Author's Note:**

> I took a break from the thing I *should* have been writing and wrote this utterly self-indulgent little Christmas meet-cute instead. The idea came from prompt #38 of [this post](https://50-item-writing-prompts.tumblr.com/post/181844119575/50-meet-cutes). Please to enjoy!

“Um, excuse me?” 

Patrick hears someone clear their throat from somewhere over his left shoulder. He extracts himself from the branches of the display tree, careful not to jostle the needles more than necessary, and turns toward the sound, customer service smile firmly in place. 

“How can I–” the words die on his tongue because _damn_ , okay. The customer trying to get his attention is actually, uh, really nice looking. Okay, he’s beautiful; Patrick can admit it. He admits these things now, about other men. The customer trying to get his attention is beautiful. Stunning, if Patrick was the type to get flowery with his adjectives, which he is not. Except for maybe now, because the guy is definitely stunning. Patrick is stunned.

The guy is looking at him expectantly. He’s all angles and strong jawline and thick black hair and deep brown eyes and full lips and, crap, Patrick was supposed to be finishing the thing he’d started to say, wasn’t he? The guy looks confused now. Patrick has confused him with his lack of being able to finish saying things. This is going so well. 

“Um,” the guy says again. “Are you...by any chance…” 

_Yes, definitely_ Patrick thinks. _Whatever you’re about to say, I am that. Whatever you want me to be._

“...Micah’s dad?”

Oh. 

“Uh, no?” Patrick says, then wonders why he made it sound like a question. “No,” he tries again, “I’m not Micah’s dad.” 

“Oh, okay,” the guy says, already starting to move away. “Sorry. You have like a,” he waves a hand, “dad energy.” 

“I have a– sorry, a _dad_ energy?” 

“Yeah, you know.” The guy is grimacing now, hand cutting circles through the air like whatever he’s saying should be painfully obvious. “You seem like you know what you’re doing, here. So.” 

“Oh, well,” Patrick laughs, “that’s probably a good thing, since I work here.” 

“Ah.” 

“Yeah.” Patrick gestures to the thick canvas apron he’s wearing over his hoodie and jeans, the color a deep evergreen that matches the trees, accented just so with the poinsettia pin his mom made a few years back.

“Mm, okay. Sorry, missed that. Um, but this is fortuitous, because you can actually help me, probably.” 

“I’d love to help you.” He definitely didn’t mean to say that. _Happy to,_ he should have said. _I’m happy to help._

“That’s great, because this little guy,” the customer steps to the side, revealing a wide-eyed kid standing behind him, and wow, Patrick was seriously distracted to not even notice a whole ass child like that, “is, um, L-O-S-T?” 

“Oh,” Patrick says, looking between the customer and the kid. “ _Oh._ Okay.” He leans down to the kid’s level, bracing his hands on his knees and putting on his friendly-but-not-aggressively-friendly talking-to-a-kid face. “You must be the famous Micah, huh?” 

Micah gives him an uncertain half-smile and not much more. Patrick raises one hand and tips it in the casual-est of waves, trying to exude as much nonthreatening energy as possible.

“Micah, I’m Patrick,” he says. “And I’m not 100% sure where your dad is right now, but I definitely know someone who can help.” He straightens and throws a thumb over his shoulder. “Wanna follow me?” 

Micah looks decidedly not on board with that plan, reaching out a hand to clasp the cute guy’s coat in a death grip. 

“Oh, your friend can come,” Patrick says, looking up at the guy in a question.

“David,” the guy offers him before looking down at the kid and smiling softly. “And of course I’ll go with you, Micah.” 

Patrick leads Micah and David toward the back of the tree lot where the tent containing the “office” is. His dad is finishing with a customer just as they’re walking up.

“Micah, this is my dad, Clint,” Patrick says. “Dad, this is Micah and his friend, David.”

“Hi, Micah and Micah’s-friend-David. Did Patrick help you pick out the perfect tree yet?”

“Oh, um,” David starts. 

“Actually, they aren’t in the market for a tree,” Patrick keeps his voice neutral, like they’re all just having a friendly conversation. No need for child-type people to get nervous. “They are actually on the hunt for Micah’s dad.” 

“Ah, I see.” Clint looks between Patrick and David, catching on right away. “Well, let’s see. Micah’s dad.” He drums his fingers against his chin, scanning the lot. “I haven’t seen any Micah’s dads lately. Seen a few other dads, but…”

“You know what?” Clint snaps his fingers. “I bet Micah’s dad is out looking for him. Why don’t I just go tell him we’ve got Micah here, and he can stop looking and come get him? And in the meantime, you can get Micah and Micah’s friend here a couple of hot chocolates?”

“I think that sounds like an excellent idea.”

While his dad trudges off toward the street, Patrick grabs two cups and fills them with hot chocolate from the thermal dispenser. He tosses a handful of miniature marshmallows into each cup, and passes one to David. He sets the other on his dad’s makeshift desk and nudges out the stool with his leg.

“Micah, why don’t you hop up here and drink your hot chocolate? That way you can see your dad as soon as he comes.”

Micah casts another doubtful glance toward David, who nods his approval, then scrambles onto the stool with a small assist from Patrick.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Patrick says. He reaches back behind the dispenser and grabs two mini candy canes, unwrapping one and plopping it into Micah’s cup. “There you go.”

“Thanks,” Micah says, finally seeming to decide that maybe Patrick can be trusted after all.

“Welcome,” Patrick tells him. He unwraps the second candy cane and hooks it over the side of David’s cup. “And one for you.”

“Thanks,” David whispers, casting a worried glance at Micah, who’s just staring into his hot chocolate. It’s getting late, Patrick realizes. The kid must be tired. He can’t be more than six? Seven? Patrick tilts his head, indicating David should follow him the few feet to the far side of the tent.

“So what’s his deal?” Patrick asks, voice hushed, once he and David are a safe distance away.

David shakes his head, bites his lip. “I don’t know. I just found him wandering around on the sidewalk like a little lost kitten. He came right up to me, asked me if I knew where his dad went.”

Patrick presses his lips together. “And there was no one around? No one looking for him?”

“No one,” David shakes his head again, his eyes wide. “I said I’d help him look. We went up and down the sidewalk, I looked across the street, but no one was looking for a kid. That’s when I thought, maybe they were looking for him in the tree lot? And then, you know, we found you.”

Patrick sighs, and he and David both look over at Micah. The kid takes a tentative sip of his hot chocolate, clutching the cheap paper cup with both hands, and turns in his seat, looking briefly worried until he spots David and visibly relaxes.

“Well, you seem to have made an impression,” Patrick says.

“Yeah,” David sighs, dropping his voice to a whisper again. “I’m actually concerned that I may have to adopt him if we don’t find his dad? And that would not bode well for him at all. I should not be responsible for safeguarding a young life.”

“Oh, come on. I’m sure you’d be a great replacement dad.” Patrick's mouth is apparently operating independently of his brain in David's presence. 

“Oh my god, you actually think you’re funny, don’t you?” David narrows his eyes at him, and Patrick gets a little thrill somewhere in the vicinity of his solar plexus because _oh,_ is he flirting? Are they flirting? And okay, no, Micah is the one they need to be focused on here, absolutely. But also the potential flirting feels important, and Patrick can multitask. He can do both.

“Don’t worry, David,” he hears himself say. He, unbelievably, raises a hand to wrap loosely around David’s arm, rubbing gently along his coat sleeve. “We’ll find Micah’s dad. You won’t have to raise him all on your own.”

“I don’t even know where the good private schools are around here,” David mutters into his hot chocolate, gamely playing along with the joke, and Patrick thrills again. Since when were people this gorgeous allowed to also be funny? That didn’t seem fair. He laughs, giddy, and David shoots him a guarded little smile that he very much wants to figure out how to turn into an un-guarded one.

“Speaking of dads,” David says after a moment, his brow furrowing slightly. “Um, where’s yours?”

“Still looking for Micah’s, I guess? I don’t know why it’s taking this long, to be honest,” he admits, and at the worried look on David’s face, he goes on, “I mean, we get lost kids all the time. They like to try to hide in between the trees, or they wander down the sidewalk a bit, and the parents lose sight of them. But we usually get ‘em reunited right away. The parents are pretty easy to spot. They’re the ones running around, frantic, yelling the kid’s name.” 

“So why isn’t anyone yelling for Micah?”

Patrick just shakes his head, because he really doesn’t want to think about what the answer to that question could be. Instead, he gives David's arm a little squeeze again and heads back over to where Micah is now happily slurping down his hot chocolate.

“Hey, Micah,” he says, still careful to keep his voice casual. “How’s that hot chocolate treating you? You want another one?”

“No, thanks,” Micah says. “Is my dad coming soon?”

“Yeah, buddy, he’ll be here really soon.”

“Your dad is finding him?”

“That’s right, and my dad is really good at finding-”

Just then a man comes running up, eyes wild and face, yep, frantic. He scoops Micah off the stool, wrapping him in a tight hug. Patrick’s dad is behind him, and he catches Patrick’s eye, smiling in relief. 

“Micah, thank God. You scared me to death,” the guy mumbles into Micah’s curls.

“Sorry,” Micah says, his voice muffled where his face is smooshed into the thick collar of the man’s overcoat.

“See, Micah?” Clint says. “I told you he was looking for you. He was looking for you all over! He was already two blocks away, did you know that?”

Micah’s dad releases him enough that he can look at Clint and shake his head, and Micah’s dad extends a hand toward Patrick, then David.

“Thank you so much for looking after him. I turned my head for a second, I swear, and he was–” Micah's dad takes a shaky breath. He turns his gaze back to Micah. “Why did you wander off? We’ve talked about that.”

“I was looking at the trees!” Micah whines and yeah, he’s definitely tired. Patrick’s got little cousins, and he’s worked the tree lot enough years to recognize the signs. He’d guess Micah is ten minutes out from full meltdown mode, maybe less.

“Hey, Micah,” he tries, keeping his voice light and soft. “Why don’t you come back with your dad some other time and look at the trees, yeah?”

“Will you help me pick the perfect one?” Micah asks, yawning. He dips his head onto his dad’s shoulder but keeps his big eyes on Patrick.

“You know I will.”

“That sounds fun, huh, Mic?” Micah's dad says, rubbing a hand up and down his back.

“And David can come too?” Micah’s voice is getting softer as he drifts closer to sleep.

“Oh, um-” David starts.

“Yep. David will be here, too,” Patrick promises. He grins at David and shoots him a wink, and the smile David gives him in return is tiny and tucked into the side of his mouth, but it definitely still counts.

“You should go home and get some sleep, Micah,” David tells him. “I’ll see you around.”

“Okay, David.” Micah yawns again. “See you 'round.”

Clint walks Micah and his dad to the edge of the lot, and Micah gives them a half-hearted wave as he’s carried off into the night. Then David is stacking his paper cup inside Micah’s and looking for a trash can and Patrick really, really doesn’t want him to leave.

“Looks like you dodged a bullet.” He follows David out into the lot, toward the street. David slows, turns to look at him like he’s surprised to find Patrick there, still talking to him.

“Mm, uh-huh. Looks like I won’t have to hire a nanny after all.”

“So can I, um,” Patrick casts a glance around, desperate for a reason to keep David talking, “can I help you find a tree?”

“Oh, thanks, that’s not – I don’t really do that.”

“You don’t… do that.”

“Nope.”

“You don’t celebrate Christmas!” Patrick feels a little stupid. Years of working the lot has skewed his perspective. It’s not like Christmas is universally celebrated. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“No, it’s okay.” David shakes his head. He’s giving Patrick another bitten-down smile. “I’m actually half Jewish? But I still half-celebrate Christmas. Sometimes. But the tree is… I mean, I live alone, and have you ever decorated a tree alone? It’s not that fun.”

“Oh, okay. Uh, yes. I mean, I have decorated a tree alone, and you’re right, it’s not that great.” Patrick leans toward David, dropping his voice conspiratorially. “In fact, can you keep a secret?”

David leans toward him, eyebrows quirked in anticipation.

“I don’t get a tree either. It’s too much work for one person.”

“Oh? I thought you’d have people at home who could help you. Partner, kids, et cetera.”

“Right. The dad energy.” Patrick shrugs, grinning. “Nope, just me. I have a little plastic tree. Comes in a box. I put it on my coffee table. It gets the job done. I’m never home to appreciate it anyway. I’m always here.”

“This is your job? Like, your career?” Patrick smirks at his tone, and David quickly backtracks. “Sorry, that sounded really condescending. I didn’t mean to imply that this isn’t a good job. It seems like it would be fun. Helping people with their Christmas memories. It’s, um, important.”

“Thanks.” Patrick huffs a laugh. “It’s fun, but no, it’s not my career. My dad inherited the tree farm from his dad, and he just keeps it running, you know, for the family. And every year he comes to the city and sets up the lot. It’s really busy, these few weeks before Christmas, so I take off work, and I help him run it.”

Patrick feels like he’s rambling, unmoored, but David’s smiling at him, a full, genuine smile.

“Oh. That’s… really nice,” he says. "That you do that for your family, I mean."

“So what about you? What do you do, other than rescue lost kids?”

“Oh, um, I work with my family too, actually? Kind of. I run an art gallery. My parents are co-owners and my sister… well, she says she’s our marketing manager but she actually just sort of,” David flaps his hands at his sides, “hangs around and judges everything I do.”

“Oh. That doesn’t sound very nice,” Patrick tells him. 

“No, she– it’s– ugh, okay, never tell anyone I admitted this to you? But. I like having her around,” David says it like it physically pains him to admit it. “When we were younger, she traveled a lot, and I basically never saw her, and now...it’s nice. I don’t know. I mean, yes, we torture each other and threaten each other with physical violence regularly, but...”

"But she's your sister, and you love her," Patrick offers, and David grimaces again, nodding reluctantly like he's embarrassed by even the suggestion of having real affection for his sister. Patrick crosses his arms, reaching a hand to his mouth in an effort to cover his charmed smile.

“Okay, yeah," he says. "That does sound– I mean, I’m an only child, so I don’t really get the sibling dynamic, I guess? But that sounds right. From what I know about siblings.”

They stand there for a moment, smiling at each other at the edge of the lot while Patrick tries to think of something else to say to keep David from leaving.

“So, you run an art gallery? That makes sense.”

“It does?”

“Yeah. It’s just, the way you look…” Patrick gestures down the length of David's body, tries not to blush. 

“What, like an art snob?” 

“No! That’s not – um, you just look classy. You know, like, elegant.” David’s brows are furrowed like he doesn’t understand what Patrick’s trying to say. “Beautiful,” Patrick finally admits. He goes on, trying to sound super casual about having just called David beautiful but very much not succeeding. “It's just, you’re really beautiful, so it makes sense that you work in a job where you’re surrounded by other beautiful things. Not that you’re a thing! I’m not saying you’re a thing. But you are, um, beautiful. So.”

David smiles, slow and small but getting bigger. “Oh,” he says.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Patrick says before he can talk himself out of it. David smirks at him, and Patrick realizes how that probably sounded and, lord, he is not on his game tonight, like at all. “No, that’s not– I didn’t mean, um. I just meant…” Patrick looks around again, like someone, somewhere will notice he’s failing spectacularly at asking David out and come to his aid. Or turn back time, or make the ground swallow him, or drop an anvil on his head, something.

“Look, we’re closing in a few minutes, and I was just wondering if you, maybe, wanted to go grab a coffee with me? Or something.”

David doesn’t say anything, but he also doesn’t laugh in Patrick’s face and walk away, so Patrick figures he’s got half a shot. He keeps going.

“There’s a coffee shop right across the street, so. It’s not far. I mean, obviously, it’s not far. What I meant was, it would only take a couple minutes of your time. If you wanted to go. With me.”

David’s smirking at him openly now, practically laughing, but there’s no malice in his eyes. He looks amused. Patrick, inexplicably, continues.

“God, sorry, I’m really bad at this. Um, I just...like talking to you, and I’d like to…not stop doing that.”

“Me either.”

“What?”

“Or, me too, I guess,” David says, rolling his eyes. “The point is, you actually are good at this, Patrick. If by this, you mean being very adorable and making me feel very good about myself. And I’d love to have coffee with you, except in my case it will be a caramel macchiato, because black coffee tastes like hangovers and regret, and I don’t want it to just take a couple minutes.”

“Oh.”

“I want it to take a lot longer than that.”

“Okay." Patrick knows he's smiling dopily but he can't stop it, and with the way David is grinning back at him, full force, he doesn't want to. 

“Yeah, so.”

“Great, wow. Thank you, David. Let me just go tell my dad.” Patrick hustles back to the tent and tries not to think about how much he just sounded like a ten year old who had to ask for permission from his dad to go play. He whips his apron off and tosses it on the desk, then he tells his dad that he’s taking off early, and why, and absolutely does not blush at the way his dad pumps his fist victoriously and says, “Go get ‘em, champ.”

He loves that his parents are so supportive since he came out, but yikes.

David’s waiting for him at the crosswalk and smiles at him as he’s walking up. As they're crossing the street, he reaches for David’s hand like it’s the easiest thing in the world, and when David interlaces their fingers together, it kind of feels like it is. A little over two hours later he and David are being kicked out of the coffee shop so they can close, and two hours after that they’re being kicked out of a diner up the street for the exact same reason. 

“Remind me to send Micah just, like, the biggest gift basket for wandering off from his dad,” he says as he’s opening the passenger door of his car to drive David home. David gives him a peck on the cheek (their third kiss of the night, and yes, Patrick is absolutely counting) and folds himself into the passenger seat. 

“You could give him a discount on whatever tree he picks out,” he offers once Patrick is buckled into the driver's seat. 

“At this point, David, he’s getting the tree for free." Patrick starts the engine and immediately reaches over to take David's hand. David wraps Patrick's hand in both of his and catches his eye, another sweet smile tucked into the corner of his face.

"Maybe the whole damn lot.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [dinnfameron](https://dinnfameron.tumblr.com) on tumblr come say hiiii.


End file.
